


Like Swimmers Do (I'll Call On You)

by maydayparade8123



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [9]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Is that a thing, It is now, Surfer AU, annabeth is equal parts fond and annoyed, percy is generally lovely about everything, the usual things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydayparade8123/pseuds/maydayparade8123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy surfs and Annabeth used to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Swimmers Do (I'll Call On You)

**Author's Note:**

> THIS TOOK THREE MILLION YEARS and i could not be more pleased with the result
> 
> so the title is from the grouplove song titled [shark attack](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXHrfIZe484)
> 
> this fic is based on a [prompt](http://maydayparade8123.tumblr.com/private/66407601655/tumblr_mvyvggu7rk1s5x741)
> 
> and my fanfiction tumblr is maydayparade8123
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

_And I am what I am, a natural disaster_  
Pick me up at three, send me off to sea  
And maybe I'll come back for you  
...  
And I can't understand what I'm after

_\--_

Sometimes, Annabeth wishes that she wouldn’t have retired.

She knows that it had been the only option at the time—being as young as she was—but now she misses it. And she knows that she’s past her prime; that her skills are rusty at best and there’s no way she can get back the talent she once possessed.

She digs her toes deep into the sand, stares at the waves, and misses the rush of it all. She misses the way young, aspiring surfers would _beg_ her for lessons or even an autograph. She misses the way she always seemed to have a spot in the local paper, and even once on the national news.

Annabeth misses surfing. She misses the way saltwater burned her eyes and made her skin feel gritty. She misses going after waves that were challenges—waves she was positive she wouldn’t be able to overcome, but she almost always could. She misses the free, boundless feeling she used to get.

And, because fate is this sick, fucked up ominous force, she’s getting thrown back into it. It burns like saltwater in her eyes, except this time it’s not pleasant.

“Miss Chase?”

Annabeth flicks a glance over her shoulder; takes in the woman holding a clipboard and wearing a headset. “Yeah?”

“We’re ready for your interview.”

Annabeth clenches her teeth. “Alright.”

Having a camera in front of her face again is disorienting. It’s been years. “Miss Chase, all these years after your retirement, tell us how it feels to be back in the rush of it!”

She pastes a smile on her face. “It feels great, yeah. I missed the atmosphere a lot!”

Her interviewer nods politely. “60 women and men competitors out here today, along with thousands of people who plan on watching. Anything you have to say about the waves?”

Annabeth bites the inside of her cheek and pushes a blonde curl behind her ear when it flits in front of her face. “They look sick,” she says. “Perfect for a competition.”

“And you’ll be judging right alongside James Falon, a pretty well-known legend. What do you think about that?”

“He’s a nice guy,” Annabeth allows. “We competed against each other once.”

The woman nods very seriously. “The 2001 Small Fry competition. You were eleven?”

“I was. One of my first competitions.” The blonde smiles tightly and tries to communicate how much she wants the topic to change.

Her interviewer seems to get it. “I’d say you’re a legend right along him. Now, tell us, we’ve got a lot of good surfers out here this year. Who do you think’ll win?”

Annabeth manages a light laugh. “Time will tell.”

;;

The first time she sees him, he’s covered in what she’s hoping is ketchup. He’s also grinning like a madman, watching a boring older lady talk with genuine interest. He’s wearing the t-shirt every competitor gets, his hair is in every direction, and Annabeth thinks _first year_.

“... Yeah, yeah, I’m excited. First year and all that,” she hears him say to the woman, and she smiles smugly to herself. “Kind of nervous, though, some of the judges this year are the same people I idolized.”

Annabeth almost groans to herself. James Falon is a talented surfer by blood—his father, his grandfather, and his uncle all being award winners—and he didn’t retire at the age of 16. His career has stretched on and on; he’s gathered more trophies and medals than Annabeth could fit in her entire apartment, probably, and his fanbase has nearly covered the entire state of California. He took the world by storm the same way Annabeth could have, and while he’s a nice guy, she’ll admit that she’s jealous of him. He has everything she wanted.

“Right, well I better go find a place to get all of this off of me,” he says, and Annabeth spares him a glance, catching the end of a bright smile. “I’ll talk to you later, Ms. Liberty.” He saunters off after that, and Annabeth let’s herself watch his back retreat, simply to criticize the way his body is all wrong for surfing. His posture is one step up from the hunchback of Notre Dame and he walks like he doesn’t have control of his own limbs. Annabeth thinks he’s a little on the skinny side, almost like the wind might knock him over.

“First years,” she mutters to herself with a scoff, like she hadn’t been one herself.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Miss Chase!”

Annabeth is halfway between a wince and a shudder. “James!” she enthuses, falling flat. “Call me Annabeth, please.”

“It’s been a while, Annabeth,” he says with a too-big smile. “How’s life been treating you?”

“Can’t complain,” she says, and it’s the truth. She can’t complain because it was _her_ choice to retire and it was her choice to lock surfing out of her life for so many years.

“Same here,” he murmurs, crossing his arms and peering at the crowd. “Who do you think’ll win?”

Annabeth barely manages to withhold an irritated growl. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? As if I know the answer.”

James seems amused. “Annabeth, have you even talked to a single person here today? Half of these people are probably here for you more than they are for the competition.”

Her heart jumps in her chest, but she stomps on it before it can go too high. “Sure,” she replies in a dry tone. “I think I’m going to go find a drink.”

“I think it’s thirty minutes to the first competitor,” he says easily, like she needs reminding.

Annabeth nods and steps away from him, probably a little too quickly to be considered polite. She walks away with the petulance of a child and doesn’t look back.

Annabeth ties her hair up into a ponytail and wanders around the outskirts of the crowd, eavesdropping on a few on the conversations. (So sue her, she really wants to know if people are here for her.) She hears a million variations of people saying how great the waves looked and how they can’t wait for the show to start. She only stops walking when she hears a confident “He’s going to win.”

Annabeth pretends that she needs to tie her shoe, and she only realizes that she’s wearing flipflops after she bends down. She clears her throat uncomfortably and straightens up, trying not to be too obvious as she listens in. “He’s great. He has to win.”

“He’s inexperienced, though, isn’t he? It’s more likely a veteran’ll win. Probably, like, Kesly or Jordan. The Jackson kid just seems so… ignorant, to the whole competition.”

 _Ignorance is bliss,_ Annabeth thinks idly, before deciding it’s time to move on and actually find a drink. So, she’ll keep an eye on someone named Jackson. She’s intrigued.

;;

" _...Our 25th contestant is an interesting case. Percy Jackson—a first year competitor who's said to have the skill of a national winner—is clearly the underdog of the competition. He claims to have no training whatsoever, gaining all of his talent through his own idle surfing._ "

Annabeth squints through her sunglasses, sparing a glance up at the TV's close up of him.

It's the same first year she'd seen with ketchup seeping into his shirt. Annabeth stifles a small laugh by pressing her top row of teeth into her bottom lip, but she decides to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He starts out poorly. Annabeth can read nervousness easier than any emotion, and it's all across his face. James leans forward, smiling to himself. "After all I'd heard about this kid, I really thought he would be more impressive," he mutters. As much as Annabeth dislikes (envies) James, she has to agree.

She flinches as he wipes out and looks down at his competitor sheet. It holds all the stats he has—not many—and a summary of all his wins. Most of them are local, easygoing competitions, and Annabeth almost pities him. She usually pities the optimistic.

When she glances at the screen again, Percy's laughing. It's not the kind of laugh people use to cover up insecurity, or at least it doesn't look like it. She narrows her eyes at the small figure in the ocean; watches as he pushes himself up on top of his board and sits there.

"Are you kidding me," Annabeth deadpans. "He's just _sitting_ there!"

"It's part of his strategy," someone behind her calls out. "Or so I hear, anyways. He has this mojo about being one with the ocean."

 _First years_ , Annabeth practically snarls inside her head. Percy keeps an eye on the oncoming waves as he swishes his legs in the water idly.

He's unprofessional in the most annoying way; like he could care less about the fact that he's here before _thousands_. Any semblance of earlier nerves have evaporated.

"Get him out of the water," Annabeth grumbles. "He's wasting time."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Percy lies down flat on his board and starts moving. She scoffs, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair.

The next few minutes are a blur. Percy doesn't wipe out, even though it's one of the biggest waves they've seen all day. Everything he executes is with poise and ease. He takes chances no one else would; doesn't stick to the safe side of surfing like most do at competitions. It was a tactic she herself had employed, though the risks she took were often more thought out.

"He's amazing," James comments.

"He's alright," Annabeth allows. "Could use a bit more technique. He seems to be just running in head first and going with it. That's an 6.0 at best."

"I'd say a 8.0, at least. Maybe even a 9.0. And it works for him," he argues. "It makes him stand out."

 _It's not about standing out, it's about winning_ , Annabeth thinks.

In the end, she finds herself announcing Percy's name along with the others moving onto round two.

"Now that you've seen all our surfers," the same interviewer asks, the second after Annabeth steps from underneath the tent, "who are some competitors you see potential in?"

Annabeth lists off a few of her favorites—Ashley Hoff, a blonde with an athletic body and impressive credentials; Tyler Kam, a boy from across the country who's been surfing since he could breathe; Marley Hawkins, a woman who's competed against everyone who's anyone. She saves Percy for last. "There's one more," Annabeth continues. "But I'm not quite sure what to make of him."

"I'll just take a guess here," the woman says, elbowing Annabeth like they're old friends. "Is it Jackson, the underdog of the show?"

Annabeth gives a sharp nod. "It is."

"Tell us what you think about everyone's favorite first year!" The interviewer leans forward ardently.

The blonde cocks her head to the side and scuffs her foot in the sand. "I think he's an idiot," she shares, and she can hear the laughter around her. "But probably just dumb enough to go far."

The interviewer smiles pleasantly. "I'm sure he'll be happy he's in your watch list. My interview with the man himself tells me that you're an idol of his."

Annabeth raises an eyebrow. "Huh," she offers. "Well, I've got some... things. To do."

"Of course!" The interviewer addresses the camera, her smile inching up from _really excited_ to _maniacal_. "That was Annabeth Chase, one of our judges this year..."

Annabeth trails off before she can hear what else the media has to say about her. She finds her way to the bathroom, manages to find a drink with enough alcohol to take the edge off her mood, and makes her way back to the tent.

She takes a seat and stares up at the television, doing a quick recap of the competition so far. Annabeth isn't really paying attention until Percy's face appears on the screen and her name comes through the speakers.

" _...a bit of a surfer's crush, then? Some admiration of her skills out in the sea?_ "

Annabeth stands up and moves closer to the television.

The camera pans in on Percy's laughing self, his cheeks the slightest shade of red. " _I dunno about all that. Had a huge crush growing up, though._ "

Annabeth scowls at that, narrowing her eyes as if she could read his mind if she tried hard enough.

" _Annabeth's announced you as one of four competitors she's keeping her eye on_ ," the interviewer barrels on, even as Percy's jaw drops. " _What do you think about that?_ "

" _Uh_ ," Percy says, making the small crowd around him laugh. He lifts a hand and attempts to wipe his smile off his face with his index finger and thumb. " _I'm guessing I'll be making poor attempts to look spiffy while on the waves_ ," he teases, still smiling happily.

Annabeth's stomach twists. "It's the alcohol," she promises herself.

"What's the alcohol?"

Annabeth jumps at James' voice and laughs, albeit nervously. "Ah, nothing. I need water. Nice seeing you!"

She scoops her barely alcoholic drink off the table and downs the whole thing as she walks down the beach. It's cleared out considerably since the end of the first round, all that's left being mostly surfers and their family congregating and discussing the competition.

Annabeth walks around slowly, waving at those who acknowledge her and even taking a picture or two with young ones. She feels every bit like a washed-up celebrity.

Her day becomes approximately twenty percent more stressful when a group of journalists stumble upon her. They fire off questions about the competition and Annabeth struggles to keep up. She refuses to answer any of the personal questions and gives dodgy replies to any other's she's uncomfortable with.

She's in the middle of politely excusing herself when one calls out, "Are you in a romantic relationship with one of the competitors?"

Annabeth stops midsentence and glares in the general direction of the voice. " _Excuse me_?"

The reporter repeats their question, and Annabeth shakes her head. "No. Now, if you'll excuse me."

She probably stomps angrily the whole way to her car, but not many people are around to call her out on it. She picks up fast food on the way home because she's hopeless at cooking, and makes the firm decision _not_ to encourage the media's interest in her dating life. Specifically with one Percy Jackson.

So, as soon as she gets home and flops down on her couch, she's shoving Burger King fries in her mouth and starting up her laptop.

She tries not to feel too guilty as she Googles his name, but she feels out of the loop. It's as if every person in the world knows about him besides her, and it's not a feeling she's fond of.

The first three results are articles about his record as far as competitions, but the fourth link is the one she takes interest in. It's a Facebook page.

"Professional research," Annabeth mutters to herself, unwrapping her burger. She chews slowly as she debates whether or not to click it.

In the end, she does, but she tells herself it's just because she's curious about his age.

"Born in 1990," Annabeth says in realization. So _that's_ why everyone seems so interested in Percy and herself. They're the same age. That doesn't go to say that there aren't any other 23 year-olds in the competition, but they are among the youngest.

It takes Annabeth a few moments to remember that she's not in the competition. She's only here to play the part of 'celebrity’ judge, alongside James and two other professionals. The thought leaves her with a bitter twist to her lips as she closes the lid of her laptop and slides it underneath the couch.

Her bed suddenly seems miles away when she has a perfectly good couch and a blanket, so she goes to sleep.

;;

The next round is much more brutal than the first. Some of the best competitors—Ashley, one of Annabeth’s favorites, included—have wiped out on the harsh waves. The wind is relentless, and it’s obvious that many don’t know how to react to it.

(Annabeth knows, though, she knows how you have to adapt to the wind quickly and learn just how much you have to jerk and just how much speed you have to build up. She’s surfed in harsh weather millions of times before, and it kills her that she isn’t standing next to competitors, because, ambitious as she is, she doesn’t mind sharing a secret or two. The secret being that they _have_ to assess the wind, and that they won’t get by with their impulsive actions.)

She knows Percy’ll get it right the second he’s ankle deep in the water.

Her heart flutters up into her throat as she leans forward in her seat, almost smiling to herself. As much as she’s wishing she was the one with a board in her hand, she can’t help but to admire Percy’s meticulous planning, and hope it’s something he’s adopted from her.

He stops when he gets about mid-calf, feeling the wind for how it is. He even holds a hand out and shakes his hand a little— _checking out the resistance_ , Annabeth notes with a smidge of approval, but the wind is hardly the same as the water.

Percy seems to read her mind, then, because he stares out at the waves with narrowed eyes. Then he backs up around ten paces, and starts jogging.

She feels like cheering for him. Out of every person who’s competed so far—teenagers and adults alike—no one cared enough to get a feel for the wind or think of a plan, no matter how vague. The water is inconsistent, so obviously Percy won’t be perfect, but it’s better than nothing. It’ll help.

(He does fine in the end, or at least better than the rest who’ve gone so far. He’s far from perfect, and Annabeth can still see his faulty skills, but he’s getting by. Surprisingly well for a first year.)

Before he’s even waded out of the water, Annabeth’s marked down her scores for him—all above 6.0, which is saying something in comparison to the other scores she's written—and added him to the pile of people who are moving onto the next round. She tries not to think too hard about it when James sends her a weird look.

;;

Annabeth watches Percy closely throughout the duration of the competition. She sees him go from ‘one with the water’ to ‘humble hometrained surfer who could easily be on national level.' She watches him accidentally charm the masses and still manage to trip over his own feet.

He’s a walking contradiction, Annabeth thinks. Which is why she has to meet him.

She politely asks her interviewer—named _Sherry_ , she’s learned—to gather Percy up and drag him to the judging area during a break in the third round.

Sherry—bless her, Annabeth thinks, she really would be better off as a secretary rather than a low rate interviewer for surfing competitions—manages to separate Percy from the crowds and usher him to the judges tent in a fair amount of time.

Percy Jackson is slightly shorter than Annabeth expected, but he’s still taller than her. He’s also much more tan than the cameras give him credit for. His smile is just as lopsided and goofy as it looks on television, and Annabeth pushes down her sunglasses so as to be a figure of authority. (Though, she’s pretty sure she’s just _barely_ older than him. Whatever.)

“We’ll make this quick, since I’m almost positive I’m not allowed to do this,” Annabeth says, before he can even say his name. He snaps his jaw shut quickly, nodding. “You’re good.” Percy smiles bashfully, looks down, and looks up again with an open mouth, like he’s about to speak. “But being good isn’t going to get you to win.”

Percy’s brow furrows, but he nods seriously. “And what is?”

“Work on your control,” Annabeth starts, feeling oddly like a drill sergeant. Percy pats his pockets like he’s looking for something to take notes on, so Annabeth turns and hands him a notebook she was supposed to be recording observations on. Sherry offers him a pen, and he starts writing. “You’re good at _observing_ the waves—good eye, by the way, most people don’t—but you have to learn how to stay steady. Focus yourself.” Percy nods, writing quickly, and Annabeth glances around for any officials who could potentially yell at her for this.

“Is this illegal?” Percy questions, still scrawling something on the notepad. He glances up at Sherry.

She shrugs. “Annabeth’s not _technically_ on the clock right now.”

“Whatever, I have no conscience,” Annabeth mutters, and Percy barks out a surprised laugh. She feels herself wanting so smile, and that’s— _unacceptable_ is what that is, so she continues speaking. “You’ve got to find some placement for your limbs,” she adds, pulling on one of his wrists and tugging it around. “If you just toss them around randomly, it’ll throw you off balance. Find what works for you, alright?”

“Yeah, of course, thank you so much. I—”

Annabeth nods sharply, effectively cutting him off. “Not a problem, just helping out someone with potential. Besides, me giving you advice isn’t going to make you win. It’s what you do with it.”

Percy looks up at her, smiling slightly. “Right you are.”

“James!” Sherry calls loudly, waving over Annabeth’s shoulder.

The blonde snatches the notebook out of Percy’s hand, flipping the sheet he was using over and signing it haphazardly. It probably says something closer to “A…..th Chs” but it’ll suffice. “Right, so here’s your autograph,” she says, ripping the sheet out and handing it over to him.

Percy plays along easily, pasting a giant smile on his face. “Yeah, thanks so much. It really means a lot.” He sends a wave of his own to James before looking at Annabeth again. “Last page,” he says quietly, giving her a curious once-over that makes her bristle slightly. She almost regrets giving him the pointers she did, but before she can dwell on it too much brushing past her and walking down the beach once more.

She squeezes the notebook in the hand and leaves the pages crinkled. “How was your walk, James?”

“Stretched these old things out,” he laughs out, patting his legs. “Ready to get this day over with. You, too, I’m assuming?”

“Oh, yeah,” Annabeth says, shoving the notebook in the back pocket of her shorts. “More than ready.”

;;

She doesn’t stick around for some interviews or mingling, but rather rushes to her car as soon as the announcers call it a day. The stupid notebook has been weighing heavy in her pocket for hours—though, not quite heavy enough to make her feel guilty—and she’s ready to know what the hell Jackson found so important he had to write it down.

She ducks into the driver’s side of her Jeep, and flips to the last page, ripping two along the way.

_I have a feeling I won’t get the chance to say this, but I look up to you a lot. You’re a big reason why I’m here. Also, I’m pretty sure this is not allowed at all, so thanks for being illegal for me… Feels nice._

_Percy_

She blinks at it, then promptly tosses the notebook somewhere in her backseat.

;;

Annabeth was being honest when she told Percy she didn't have much of a conscience. Regardless, she soothes herself by saying that she would have given any other surfer advice if they'd asked for it.

Though, Annabeth reminds herself, he didn't explicity ask for it. She tossed it at him, really.

As much as Annabeth envies the man for reaching his prime while hers has come and gone, she has to admit that he has what it takes. He didn't blanch at her criticism or stomp his foot and claim that he was right, but rather took it in stride. (Annabeth had once heard that one of the biggest issues in any sport is pride. It's probably why her sports career didn't work out.) Not to mention that—from an objective point of view—Percy is good looking. His smiles are easy going and his skin is tanned brown from the sun. He looks like the beach in human form, really, and Annabeth almost wishes tall, clumsy boys were her type. Percy seems like a good guy, and Annabeth's relationship status (currently _Achingly Single_ on a scale of one to desperate) seems to haunt her.

Whatever. He's just another pretty boy on the beach, and it's not like she can't find a million others of the same kind. He's nothing special.

;;

As fate would have it, Percy turns out to be something special. And Annabeth comes out being only mildly bitter, is the most surprising part.

In addition to a fancy trophy, the winner gets five thousand dollars. When asked where he would spend it, given that he wins, Percy says, "To charity, probably."

Annabeth scowls at the screen and ignores the cooing around her. Jackson is nothing to be cooed over; he's a foolish man-boy-child thing that washed up on the California shore with an affinity for surfing.

He goes on to list some charities he supports, though, mentioning how he's always wanted to start his own. _Make the world a better place_ , Annabeth mocks inwardly. _I want to punch you in the face._ She should write poetry. She's good with violent rhyming.

Whatever he's trying to do, he's laying it on thick. Probably trying to establish adoration from the masses. Annoying. She regrets giving him advice.

"Y'alright?"

Annabeth jumps at the sound of James' voice, tearing her eyes away from the screen. "Yes."

"You look a little..."

"Undercaffeinated and underpaid? Exactly."

James leaves it alone, and Annabeth has to physically hold in her relieved sigh. Sherry slides a cup of black coffee on the table a few moments later, scampering off as if Annabeth might strike her.

 _Well_ , Annabeth thinks, _if you can't make friends, you might as well make them fear you._

;;

The competition is down to it's last twenty competitors, and Annabeth has two more rounds to suffer through before they hit finals.

(She isn't suffering _that_ much; if anything, Annabeth is enjoying her time at the beach, surrounded by fanatics of surfing and surfers themselves. Whoever created the stereotype about the limited brain activity of surfers is very much wrong, since Annabeth's heard her fair share philosophical debates while making her rounds. The salt in the air makes her skin itch, and it's just as homely as it is uncomfortable.)

Sherry has taken it upon herself to become Annabeth's personal assistant as the competition proceeds. Annabeth doesn't complain and Sherry seems happy to sneak quick interviews in during breaks.

"So, tell us, Annabeth Chase. You were almost a prodigy at the ripe age of sixteen; what kept you from it?"

Annabeth blinks, because Sherry had been asking the repetitive, menial questions, just to throw this one at her. "Oh, um. Sorry, caught me off guard there." She tries to ask Sherry to save her with a different question with her eyes, but the woman merely leans forward in interest.

"We're all a bit... _curious_ , to say the least. Any reason? Or it just didn't work out?"

"Didn't work out," Annabeth repeats, pasting on a smile. "I actually have to run and speak with a few competitors, if that's no issue." The blonde flashes a quick smile to the camera and decides it's time to take a walk down the beach. It's a half hour before they start up again, anyways, and Annabeth's been craving Italian ice.

It doesn't take her long to find a shack on the outskirts of the sand that's advertising just the treat she wants. She takes her time as she hikes up the beach, digging her toes into the sand and counting the months since she last surfed.

She knows it's been over four years, for sure, which is unsettling. It seems like just yesterday that she'd been a package deal with her light blue board, taking the world by storm. She still has the one that the local surfer's club got her a few months ago, thinking they were being helpful when in reality they were rubbing salt in a hardly healed wound. Annabeth had pushed the board into a corner of her house, staring at it for days until she had finally tucked a sheet over it.

And that's how it is. She knows it's there. The beach is less than five minutes away. Her body's grown tired of the treadmills she uses at the gym; her mind points to a more organic, enjoyable type of exercise, but Annabeth gets in the way of her own self. It's an interesting concept, to say the least.

She's sat down with a blue raspberry flavored cup of ice, and she's probably sulking, but. That's all in the details

In fact, Annabeth is pleasantly swimming in her own sorrows until the chair across from her scrapes across the floor, and she promptly crashes whatever train of thought she had going.

"Can I sit here?" is how Percy Jackson greets her. Heathen.

"I suppose you will anyways," she replies boredly, and damn it all if the sting of her past goes away a little.

"So," he says conversationally, nursing a red version of her own ice-treat-thing. Snowcone? Bits of ice in a cup? Sugar flavored ice? She doesn't know the term.

"So," Annabeth agrees.

"Why'd you help me?" And right to the point, he is.

"Felt like it."

"That's not an answer."

" _Your mom_ 's not an answer," Annabeth shoots back, and _okay_ , it's not her finest moment, but she gets a smile out of Percy for her trouble.

"Really, though," he persists. "Why?"

Annabeth narrows her eyes; assesses the situation. If she really wanted to, the exit is only around five paces away. She could run.

"Are you considering sprinting out of here because I asked you one question?"

Annabeth blinks back out of escape mode and manages to laugh. "No, sorry. Zoned out."

"Right," Percy says slowly. "I'm sure you did."

"Nervous about the competition?"

"A little. Avoiding the question?"

"Definitely. Often this annoying?"

"Probably." A smirk hints at Percy's lips. "Single?"

"Maybe," Annabeth says, after a beat of silence. "A bit forward?"

Percy smiles brightly, looks down at his Italian ice. "Always." He glances up at her again, but busies himself with his melting ice. "Miss surfing?"

Annabeth doesn't answer for a while, but in the end, something makes her mutter out a "Sometimes."

Percy stares at her for a while before he nods. They eat in silence.

;;

When Annabeth goes back to her life as a judge, it suddenly doesn't seem as bleak as it did a half-hour prior. She decides not to think about it.

;;

" _Been surfing since I was ten_ ," Percy says, smiling at Sherry. " _It was mostly a hobby, but a few people saw me a few months back and told me I should look into something more serious, so I did_."

Annabeth watches Percy on the small television screen. He's just finished his go, and his hair is flopping in front of his face. He looks stupid. ( _But like, a cute stupid,_ some part of her adds. Annabeth stabs that part of her and hides the body.)

" _Who else do we know that started surfing at ten?_ " Sherry teases, pushing Percy's shoulder.

He grins, ducks his head. Annabeth nearly groans aloud—without even _trying_ , he knows how to steal the hearts of viewers. She'd never been good at that part. When he looks back up, Annabeth can see a faint blush on his cheeks. Disgusting. (And unfair.) " _Yeah, like I said. Annabeth was a big inspiration when I was growing up_."

 _First name basis_ , Annabeth notes with a smidge of interest. Minus the part where she's not interested.

She turns her attention from the screen and tries to pin down the next surfer. It's a boy—Alan Acaden—who's participated in numerous competitions. Annabeth can see him winning, but then again, she can see almost all of the 20 they have left winning. (The only weak ones are McKenna and Jack, two competitors who are more interested in how they look on screen as opposed to how they surf. They're talented, sure, but Annabeth doesn't see the focus they should posses. To be fair, her standards are high, so she stops trying to guess who the winner will be.)

Alan wipes out once but throws a few fancy tricks that'll probably get him through to the next round. However, the lower scores'll probably mess up his higher average. Annabeth admires his list of accomplishments while she waits for the next surfer to take their turn.

"Sherry," Annabeth says, raising her voice the slightest bit. She keeps her eyes on Jade—the edgiest surfer she's seen all day (good speed, but low control; a recipie for trouble)—and waits for Sherry to call back an answer.

Eventually, the peppy woman sidles up next to her. "Ma'am?"

" _Gross_ , call me Annabeth," the blonde replies, getting a laugh out of Sherry. "If it's not too much trouble, could you hunt me down a water?"

Sherry gives a peppy response that Annabeth hardly hears over the crowd as Jade slips off her board. Annabeth winces, tapping her pen against the table and ignores James' commentary.

When Sherry returns, Jade is just making her way out of the water. Annabeth mentally puts her in the bottom five, purely because she hadn't demonstrated outstanding skill and the others outshine her by far. "Thanks," Annabeth tells Sherry as she pushes a water into her hand.

Sherry doesn't pull her hand away, and Annabeth feels very much out of her comfort zone as she glances up at the woman. Sherry clears her throat and nods vaguely at the water bottle, and upon closer inspection, there's something written on the label. Handwritten. In orange pen, of all things.

It's ten digits, paired with a signoff of "That Really Forward Guy," and Annabeth shoots a questioning look over her shoulder. Sherry smiles serenely and snaps her fingers at a cameraman until he follows her.

Annabeth looks at the messily scrawled number. Then she rips the paper off her water bottle, and stuffs it in her back pocket.

She sinks back into judge mode, scoring and doesn't let her thoughts stray to Percy. Much.

;;

 _That was highly inappropriate of you_ , is what Annabeth decides to text. It's later that night, after she's helped herself to a hearty dinner (grilled cheese) and a glass of wine (it was really just grape juice, but same thing, whatever).

Her phone buzzes not even a full minute later, and Annabeth rolls her eyes before she reads it.

-

**From: Jackson**

_Yeah, but it got you to text me, so I win in the end._

-

He follows that message up with an emoji of a wave, and Annabeth pushes her phone underneath her pillow and ignores it when another text comes through. She's getting a feeling that seems akin to fondness and that is just... Not. Not what she wants. Now.

So, it's another night of reruns of How I Met Your Mother. Maybe she even slips another glass of grape juice in as she sends off an update e-mail to her dad. Whatever it takes to ignore her phone and the stupid guy.

;;

"Before you go all wide-eyed and sad on me, it's still inappropriate," Annabeth says mildly, helping herself to the abundance of water bottles the sponsors provided for the surfers. Annabeth's extended that invitation to the judges, but. Whatever.

"What makes you think I was sad about you not answering?" Percy asks, huffing out a laugh. He’s wearing orange today, and it makes his tan skin look ridiculous. "I was pretty amused."

It occurs to Annabeth then that in her adamance to ignore Percy's messages, she hadn't glanced at her phone this morning. "Oh god," she says with a sense of dread. "What did you do?"

Percy raises a mischievous eyebrow. "Why, I'm offended by your implication, Ms. Chase."

"Please tell me I don't need to change my number to avoid harassment." Annabeth sighs, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

Percy chuckles, shaking his head. "I hope you won't." He cocks his head to the side and gives her a soft smile, and Annabeth tries to frown at him, but her face won't let her. It's doing that annoying thing where it smooths out and relaxes, taking all of her practiced expressions away.

Annabeth looks away, but she can still feel Percy's eyes on her. "Stare at people often?"

"Nah," Percy answers with a shrug. "You just... You have freckles, up close. It's cute."

"Ah, well, lions are pretty cute, too, until you provoke them." Annabeth smiles cheerfully and decides to leave on that note, waving over her shoulder.

She might turn around again as she approaches the judges tent, and Percy may still be watching her go.

;;

When she finally finds a second to check her phone, she has twenty-three messages, all of which contain water-related emojis. She almost deletes the conversation three times before she drops her pretenses and leaves it there for a rainy day.

;;

The next day is the semifinals, and Annabeth can feel how tense the surfers are from her place at the judges table.

Percy just _barely_  made it through the last round, and while Annabeth knows he has the potential to win, she doesn't see any determination. If anything, Percy's gone into full relaxation mode when he should be doing quite the opposite.

So, Annabeth stops being so blinded with confusion at Percy's carefree attitude and looks at the others. One man in particular interests her—he's mid-twenties with a few wins on his side—and his name is Caleb Rinsinger. He hadn't been anything special throughout the competition. If anything, Annabeth would brand him as one of the naturals; the one's who were good enough to win, but lacked a certain _something_ —something small, usually, but something that counted when those up against you were nearly perfect. However, last minute, Caleb's been showing the judges everything he's got. And he's _good_ , is the thing, probably even better than Annabeth in her prime. Not to mention his skillful planning, holding back the best bits for when it matters. She kind of wants to high five him, then glare for a few minutes just to balance out the universe.

Percy seems perfectly content to cruise along and just _barely_ get by. Annabeth had higher hopes for him, if she's being honest, but he's the surfer. He's the one in the competition, and if he wants to treat it casually, then so be it.

Still, Annabeth finds herself glaring at the small figure in the water when he tips himself off his board on purpose, making the masses on the beach laugh. He resurfaces with a 'what can you do?' look, gathers his board, and calmly wades through the water. Almost every person on the beach goes dead silent and drops their jaw, Annabeth included.

Annabeth blinks. Then she blinks some more. Then she feels like bashing a few skulls or _something_ , because Christ—Percy just threw the competition.

“Did he just—?”

“What,” Annabeth says, before James can even finish his question. “ _What_.”

It’s like nothing she’s ever seen before. Percy’s still laughing after he emerges from the ocean and joins the rest of the competitors who’ve taken their turn. They all clap him on the back, as if to say, ‘good joke, man,' and Percy just laughs some more.

Annabeth feels like she should sprint down the beach and knock some sense into him, but instead she finds a curious smile playing at her lips. She shakes her head at herself, gives him a 0.5 for his last score, and moves on to the next paper.

Even as the next surfer is on the waves, everyone continues to talk about Percy’s little show. Half of them are saying that he knew he was going to lose, so he decided to make it easy on everyone. The other half are saying that he fell on accident and pretended it was intentional.

Annabeth keeps pretending she isn’t sparing him glances and Percy gets stopped nearly every moment to talk to someone. The three remaining surfers give it their all— _unlike some_ , Annabeth thinks—and suddenly it’s time for them to choose the winner and three runner-ups.

She feels out of it as she, James, and the other two judges tally up scores and discuss the surfers as far as speed, power, and control go. The weirdest part about the whole ordeal is that the two _professionals,_ as well as James, let Annabeth have the final say.

"Rinsinger's the clear winner," Annabeth states, tapping her paper. "Even if his scores weren't consistent. The last round is what's most important, and he did better than even Ashley—who's had consistent eight-point-oh's and nine's."

"I'm agreeing with Blondie on this one," James says, smiling apologetically when Annabeth gives him a reprimanding glare for the nickname. "Caleb wins, Ashley's runner-up."

"Followed by Marley Hawkins, Jonah However-You-Say-That-Name, and...?"

"Greg Deams, maybe?" James suggests. "He's done pretty well this past round."

Annabeth makes a sound of disagreement. "No way, Tyler Kam has higher points. He did really well. And he's at an unfamiliar beach, too, and while it doesn't change his score it does make him more impressive. Most people in the competition have surfed here thousands of times."

They take a few minutes to line up all the scores and finalize the order, and then James is scrawling the names on an official sheet of paper. The heading has some motto that Annabeth doesn't care enough to read as she folds the paper up and slips it inside the envelope.

"Sherry, what do we do with this?" Annabeth says, turning to her interviewer-turned-personal-assistant.

Sherry raises an eyebrow. "I would assume that someone would announce the winners?"

Annabeth turns to the professionals, holding out the envelope. "Here you go."

"No way, Ms. Chase," James says suavely. "You're practically the main event at this thing. We all know who the people want to break the news."

"Sadly, I'm not up to it," Annabeth says, trying to sound remorseful. "Maybe next time."

"To be fair, everyone is probably expecting you to," Sherry interjects, leaning into the conversation.

Annabeth scowls. Sherry makes a helpless expression, and James claps her on the back. "All you have to do is read off a few names," he promises. "No biggie."

;;

It turns out to be a biggie.

After Annabeth makes her way to the announcer's box, they hand her a script. A _lengthy_ script, that details the winnings of the four names on her paper. There's even a long paragraph about sponsors and Annabeth did not sign up for this.

"No, thank you," she says, shoving the ten-page essay back into the man's hand. He sputters as Annabeth expertly (not-so-expertly; there's quite a bit of fumbling and curiously pressed buttons involved) turns the microphone on. " _Let's see if this stupid thing_ —Hey, everyone," Annabeth starts, not all that smoothly. The announcer next to her snorts into his palm, and she gives him a disapproving look before turning back to the task at hand. "Right, so. Winner gets five thousand, runner-ups get less, and everyone gets a medal. Yay!"

The crowd laughs at her expense, and Annabeth smiles a little. "Right, so, let's start with our third runner-up..."

She butchers Jonah's last name and accidentally reads 'Tyler' off as 'Taylor,' but all in all it's not the worst she's done with public speaking. She even tosses in a bit about thanking the sponsors if the chance arises, and the announcer smiles pleasantly at her. He takes back over the mic as Annabeth exits the building.

Men and women are already gathering their belongings and walking up the beach, ready to beat the traffic and get out of the sun. Annabeth doesn’t blame them; not everyone was blessed with overhead tents like she had been. James snorts as Annabeth approaches, and even Sherry is holding back a smile. “Can I help you?” Annabeth asks, too sweetly to be genuine.

“Nice announcing,” James comments, and Annabeth doesn’t even bother with hiding her eye roll.

“The guy tried to give me this long script, and we all know that nobody cares. They just want to know who won so they can get the hell off this beach.” She fans herself with her hand. “It’s too hot. It never used to be this hot.”

“Probably because you were always in the water,” a voice says behind her.

Annabeth doesn’t turn around. “Global warming, more likely.”

Percy hums in response as he moves to stand next to her. “I don’t believe in global warming.”

“I don’t believe in throwing competitions,” Annabeth shoots back. “What was up with that?”

The boy—whose hair has dried with these ridiculous waves—spares a glance at James and Sherry lingering nearby. “I didn’t throw it. I fell and then went with it.”

Annabeth opens her mouth to call him out because she _knows_. She saw his expression clearly before he tipped himself off; he knew what he was doing. Percy tilts his head forward the slightest bit, like he’s asking her a silent question, and she finds herself nodding. “Yeah, right. That’s what I heard everyone saying.”

“They were right,” Percy says, smiling. “No one in their right mind would throw a competition.”

“I’m aware,” Annabeth answers mildly, she raises an eyebrow and gives him a once-over, but before she can come up with a better reply, Sherry is stepping between them and asking Percy for an interview.

If there’s anything to admire about Sherry, it’s her ambition. She drags Percy away by his collar and starts firing off questions.

“It was a pleasure to be reunited with you,” James tells her, packing up his bag. “We should meet up again, catch a few waves or something.”

“I don’t surf much anymore,” Annabeth says apologetically. “It was nice to see you, though.” _Please go away_ , she adds mentally.

“Coffee, then?”

Annabeth freezes, hopefully imperceptibly. She picks her jaw up before it can fully drop. “Oh... I’ve never been much of a coffee-drinker,” she says carefully. She feels her cheeks heat up and she prays the tan that she’s gotten over the past few days keeps it from showing.

“I thought so,” James says with a small laugh. It sounds self-deprecating, and Annabeth flinches a little. Harsh as she may be, she’s never been good with saying no or rejection; it’s one of the few times her conscience makes an appearance. “Just, uh, a question?”

Annabeth nods quickly. “Yeah, sure.”

“Are you with him? The Jackson kid?” And… As much of a surprise as _James asking her out_ was, that question shocks her even more.

“Why does everyone think that?” Annabeth puts her hand on her forehead and laughs. “We’re not dating. This weekend was the first time we've met.”

James nods, and she can almost feel the air closing in on her. James clears his throat and Annabeth shuffles her feet. “I should get going,” Annabeth says, at the same time James claps his hands and says, “Well, it was nice to see you.”

They both laugh briefly, and, as much as he annoys Annabeth, she feels a pinch of guilt. “Good luck with the rest of your career,” she tells him.

“Good luck with Jackson,” he answers, and before she can correct him, James is gone.

Someone slaps her shoulder, and when Annabeth turns, Sherry’s eyebrows are up to her hairline. “Did he just—?”

“Don’t,” Annabeth half-groans. It’s only been a moment and she’s done hearing about it. “No.”

Sherry narrows her eyes. “What did you say?”

“I said no,” the blonde replies, rolling her eyes when she bends down to gather her backpack. “Are we allowed to leave?”

“I’d guess so,” Sherry shrugs. "Drive safe."

Annabeth feels her expression soften. Sherry's been good to her—probably a lot better than she should have been. "Thanks. I’ll see you later, Sherry.”

The woman nods and offers up a sweet smile before she scampers off, probably to catch the winners before they leave.

Annabeth walks until she's at the edge of the sand, her foot hovering over the pavement, then she turns back around.

As much as she had inwardly complained about being tossed into the whirlwind of judging the competition, Annabeth had enjoyed the excuse to be around the sea again. Maybe she even pulls out her phone and snaps a quick picture of the rolling waves and sets it as her background.

When Annabeth gets home, she pulls the sheet off the surfboard stuffed in her corner. She stares at it for a few moments before digging her phone out of her pocket and composing a message.

-

**From: Annabeth**

_You plan on telling me why you threw the competition?_

-

She turns her phone all the way up and tosses it on the couch. Annabeth's been out and about for the past week, and she has to admit that it feels good to be home. She decides to celebrate by making herself a TV dinner instead of ordering in.

While she's pushing the tray into the microwave, her phone goes off a few times, each tone not far behind the other. She groans under her breath and hopes with utmost sincerity that Percy isn't one of those people that tells stories one sentence at a time over text.

As it turns out, Percy _is_ one of those people. Annabeth scrolls through the several texts he sent.

-

**From: Jackson**

_Well_

-

_The thing is_

-

_I was feeling a lot of pressure I guess_

-

_And surfing has always been like a FUN thing for me_

-

_And I didn't like that it felt like a not fun thing??_

-

_So I made it fun_

-

_Ta da!_

-

Annabeth takes a bite of her food—she'd forgotten how good Salsbury steak was—and considers how to reply.

-

**From: Annabeth**

_So your definition of "fun" is throwing a competition?? You could have won $5000 dollars you know_

-

**From: Jackson**

_I know. But._

-

He doesn't send anything for a few minutes, so Annabeth locks her phone and pushes it aside. She _hates_ when guys don't text back—when _anyone_ doesn't text back, really. It's annoying.

She fumbles for the television remote until she gets a good grasp, then she clicks through channels like she’ll be watching something besides How I Met Your Mother tonight. She even goes as far as turning on the latest ABC Family original movie before she resumes her dutiful position of single 23 year-old watching the same show her dad used to.

-

**From: Jackson**

_I’m just not interested in the fame of it all? plus I’m sure someone could use the money more than I could. And I mean I had a feeling I wouldn’t win anyways, and I didn’t see the point in getting so worked up over something that was supposed to be pretty relaxed for me??_

-

Annabeth scoffs bitterly when the message comes through and throws her phone off to the side like she won’t answer. She hates attractive boys that have good virtues, and of course she would run across one of the nearly extinct species. This _would_ be her luck.

She manages five more minutes of the episode before stretches her arm out casually and picks up her phone along the way.

-

**From: Annabeth**

_You’re an idiot_

-

**From: Jackson**

_Maybe._

-

_have you ever been on a date with an idiot??? they’re a lot of fun_

-

It’s really not her fault that she laughs at that. Anyone would have. She stares at the message for a while, considering giving him a taste of his own medicine and replying with a vague emoji of a surfer, but another message comes through.

-

**From: Jackson**

_OR it could be casual I’m cool with casual not-date things_

-

Annabeth feels like she’s in high school. She knows she’s blushing, there’s a cute boy asking her out on a date/not-date thing, and there’s something inexplicably childish about the whole exchange.

It’s probably the happiest she’s felt in a month, Annabeth thinks as she lets her thumbs hover over the virtual keyboard on her screen. Percy makes her feel a little happier, and that’s not something she should deny herself, right? Right.

And yet, when she goes to type a quick ‘ _sure, why not?_ ’, Annabeth can’t.

It’s not that she’s scared to get involved with anyone—it's the opposite, really, she’s 23 and _very_ aware that she’s single—but it’s more that she’s scared to be around someone like Percy. Someone who’s incredibly _good_ in all aspects, someone who knows her past. Someone who likes surfing.

She takes her eyes off her phone screen and purses her lips as she looks at the surfboard that’s been banished to the corner of her living room. She’s missed it, more than she really wants to admit, because that’d be admitting that she was wrong. Percy alone reminds her of surfing, simply for the reason that he enjoys it as much as she once did, but Annabeth’s not even sure that she wants to miss it anymore. In fact, she’s almost positive that she’d rather go out back, crack the surfboard, and maybe even _burn_ it if she’s feeling up to it.

Her phone vibrates again, not-so-gently pushing her back into the realm of reality.

-

**From: Jackson**

_Just one casual outing between two friends? Just like when we got italian ice._

-

**From: Annabeth**

_To be fair, you showed up. We didn’t really plan on meeting_

-

Annabeth puts her phone down and cracks her knuckles, some weird shiver of nerves wracking its way through her body. She could just as easily say yes as she could say no, and as good at logical decisions as she is, she doesn’t feel like logic is applicable in this situation.

-

**From: Jackson**

_ONE DATE_

-

_NOT-DATE I MEAN_

-

_come on i’m cool!!!!_

-

Annabeth finds herself laughing at his latest message as she pushes her hair away from her face. She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth in an attempt to restrain her smile, and _yeah_ , one not-date wouldn’t be bad at all.

-

**From: Annabeth**

_No you aren’t_

-

_But I accept the offer of a not-date anyways_

-

Percy replies with six wave emojis, and Annabeth doesn’t bother stopping her smile.

;;

The thing about not-dates, Annabeth thinks, is that they’re very date-like.

Percy’s sitting across from her at a table in a casual restaurant. He’s laughing as he retells a story from a family reunion two years ago. His feet knock against her’s every so often, and he hardly takes his eyes off her as he speaks. He smiles widely every time she laughs along with him and blushes when she teases him, and all in all it’s the most date-like not-date she’s been on.

So she accepts to a second one. And a third. And a fourth, fifth, and sixth.

Each and every time, Percy says, ‘ _how would you feel about another not-date?_ ’ and Annabeth always replies with a remark that’s just rude enough to make him smile, but she eventually agrees.

In between all of their not-dates, Percy sends her endless strings of emoji and texts that don’t make all that much sense but still tend to make her smile. He even calls her a few times while he’s driving long distances to visit home, and Annabeth’s day gets exponentially brighter each time. So exponentially, apparently, that her closest friends notice and immediately pose questions of ‘ _who is he?_ ’ and ‘ _is he cute?_ ’

She never answers directly, but her friends always offer up gentle grins that say ‘ _I’m happy you’re happy_ ’, and it makes her duck her chin to hide a smile.

Sundays are Annabeth’s relaxation days. Almost every other day of the week is spent keeping up with her friends or looking for a job that she doesn’t truly need—after all, she has enough savings to probably last her a while, but she’s just finished her courses and she’s becoming bored with her day-to-day life. This particular Sunday, though, she decides to quarantine herself in her home, turn on the TV as loud as it’ll go, and watch her favorite show all day long.

Up until 2 o’clock, her plan went fine. She’d plowed her way through half of season one and a few episodes of season two, and she was planning on having a glorious meal of peanut butter and jellys for a late lunch.

She’s fixing her hair into a knot. and standing up to make her way into the kitchen when the doorbell rings around twenty times in quick succession. There’s also a familiar voice singing a tuneless song that has one lyric: ‘ _Annabeth, please open up your door_.’

She has to work her face into a scowl as she swings the door open. She even manages a good glare at Percy before the anger melts away because there’s a very attractive man on her doorstep with what looks like a bag full of groceries, and Annabeth’s never met anything _like_ him.

“Aw, did you go shopping for me?” Annabeth asks, fluttering her eyelashes for good measure.

Percy coughs into his hand like he’s attempting to stifle a laugh and gives her a bright grin. “I’m making us lunch.”

“And I’m guessing the only place to do that is at my house,” she replies mildly, stepping aside to let him in. She tries not to feel too conscious about the fact that she’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, but she ends up wrapping her arms around herself anyways. Not that it’s disguising the stained grey fabric, but it’s a good attempt.

Percy makes his way into the kitchen like he owns it. “You,” he says, pointing at Annabeth, “need to get me a circular pan if you have one. Also a cutting board. And a knife." He pauses to shoot a smile over his shoulder. "And a hug would be nice, but I'll take what I can get."

Annabeth scoffs and turns her back on him, smiling as she digs a pan out of a cabinet. The thing is, Percy makes her happy, but she's not all that into letting him in on that little known fact. When she turns and hands him the pan, she tries to make her expression one of indifference. "I feel like I should go change my clothes," Annabeth says, pushing the cutting board towards him and dropping a knife on top of it. She vaguely points in the direction of her room. "So, I'm just gonna..."

Percy gives her a weird look. "Why do you need to change? You look fine. Plus, I've already seen you, so. Also, I did barge in on you. You deserve to be comfortable." He pauses in the middle of unloading his groceries and squeezes her in a tight hug. "And it's really nice to see you."

Annabeth swallows thickly and holds her hand against her stomach to calm the uneasiness there. "Yeah, you too."

Percy pulls back and smiles widely at her. "Do you like mushrooms? If not I think I'll have to end this here."

 _This_ , Annabeth thinks. _Vague._ Aloud, she gives him an affirmative answer. He turns back to what looks like a very plain pizza. “What is that?” she asks.

“A very plain pizza,” Percy answers simply, tossing an empty box aside with a haphazard flourish. “I buy these so I can decide how much sauce and toppings and all that jazz.”

Annabeth hums in response, narrowing her eyes at his back. If she focuses, she can see his muscles shifting as he prepares lunch. Interesting.

“So, how was your day?” Percy questions, and Annabeth nearly jumps at the sound of his voice.

“Fine,” she says, surprisingly steady for a woman who was just ogling the guy she’s not-dating. “Yours?”

“Awful.” Percy says it cheerily, like having an awful day was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “That’s why I came over here.” He sends a small look over his shoulder before clearing his throat. “You make my days better.”

Annabeth doesn’t particularly want to think about the way her stomach swoops, but it falls to the forefront of her mind anyways. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep an obnoxious smile under wraps when she replies with a, “Yeah, me too.”

;;

As if Percy being a humble, attractive young man wasn’t enough, he also proves to be an amazing cook.

In fact, Annabeth’s almost positive it’s the best meal she’s had in months, even taking into account all the restaurants Percy and herself have visited. Suddenly peanut butter and jelly sandwiches sound like a punishment compared to Percy’s cooking.

“You’ve spoiled me,” Annabeth announces, settling into the couch again. She tucks her feet into the space between the two couch cushions and pats around herself in hopes of finding the television remote.

Percy hands it over to her. “That was the plan.”

“Uh huh,” Annabeth says cautiously. “And what did I do to deserve said spoiling?”

He stares at the TV for a while before he answers. “Just thought I’d do something nice.”

She gives him a weird look when he doesn’t say anything else, but doesn’t think about it too hard. That’s been a mantra for her for probably the past four years:  _don’t think about it too much_. Usually that leads to thinking about it too much, because intelligent as Annabeth may be, it doesn’t mean that her brain doesn’t have a mind of it’s own.

They watch How I Met Your Mother for what feels like hours in complete silence, but in reality it’s only been around ten minutes. Percy reaches over Annabeth’s knees, plucks the remote out of her hand, and flicks off the television. “I have a question.”

He keeps one hand on her knee, and Annabeth has to force herself not to stare at it. “You may ask.”

His initial confidence drops down a few notches. He takes his hand off her, and she fights the urge to frown. “Why don’t you… like. You know.”

Annabeth raises an amused eyebrow. “I don’t think I do.” He coughs, cracks a few of his knuckles, and gestures vaguely to the corner of her living room. She glances in that direction, and… oh. “Oh.”

“I mean,” Percy stumbles, not quite meeting her eyes. “You don’t _have_ to tell me. It’s probably annoying how much I hint that I want you to tell me, but like. Don’t feel obligated. I’ve just always… wondered, I guess. Everyone does.”

Annabeth wonders if she’s too young for heat flashes, because she’s nearly certain that she’s getting them. “Oh.”

Percy tugs at his own hair a little and gives her an apologetic smile. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… I _want_ to know you. Like—” He pauses to gesture vaguely. “Everything. All of it.”

“Why?” she asks, before she can stop herself.

He gives her an uncertain look. “Because… I like you? And I want to know more about you? Even the bad stuff?”

“You like me?” Apparently Annabeth doesn’t have a filter today, because the questions are coming out of her mouth before she can properly decide that she wants to ask them.

Percy looks at her like she’s crazy. “What, do you think I’m asking you out on all these not-dates because I hate you or something? Of course I like you.”

“No, but I mean…” Annabeth swallows thickly. “ _Like_ like. You know.”

He blinks at her with amused green eyes before he dissolves into laughter. Annabeth smiles a little just watching him, but it soon develops into a scowl. She also feels like she might be breaking out in hives, judging by the way her neck starts itching and her skin feels like it’s on fire. “This is kind of rude,” Annabeth tells him, hoping she doesn’t look half as embarrassed as she feels.

“No, I’m not trying to be—” he manages, still letting out small giggles between his words. “ _Like_ like.” Percy pushes his hair off his forehead and leaves it sticking up in several directions. Annabeth almost fixes it without thinking, but instead she tucks her hands between her knees. “Just the way it was phrased reminded me of middle school. Where you’ll tell your friends you like a girl—or boy, in your case, I assume—and they’re like ‘oooh, you _like_ like him.’” There’s a softer, reminiscent smile on his face.

“Okay,” Annabeth says slowly. At least her skin has stopped itching, she thinks semi-optimistically. On the not so optimistic side, she’s probably made herself look stupid in front of this guy whose opinion has started to matter a lot more. He hasn’t ran away yet, though, so there’s that.

“Was today another not-date?”

Annabeth purses her lips and tries to convey her confusion. “I thought we were just… Hanging out.”

“Oh,” Percy says, nodding. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“We already did that,” she points out.

“I mean,” he continues, like she hadn’t spoken, “at least it’s not another not-date.”

“You don’t like our not-dates?”

“I don’t like that they’re _not_ -dates,” Percy says, like that makes perfect sense.

“You’re confusing me today,” Annabeth decides. Then, going out on a limb, she pinches her knee and says, “I stopped surfing because I was scared.”

She can tell that Percy’s fighting to keep his expression neutral, torn between concern and interest. “Alright.”

“I mean, I was only sixteen. And there were all these people around me who were saying that I could do international competitions, move to big important cities, get someone to manage me. I didn’t even have my _license_ yet,” Annabeth says, feeling herself get worked up now that she’s started talking. “And it was all just closing in on me, I guess, and my dad wasn’t around enough to help me with decision making, so I just…” She flutters her hand in the air, hoping that Percy reads it as ‘ _gave up the only chance at a decent career I had_.’

“But just because you quit surfing competitively doesn’t mean you had to quit altogether,” Percy says softly. He reaches over and wraps his hand around her ankle of all things, and while it would normally make her squirm, she finds herself appreciating the comfort.

Annabeth nods in agreement and picks at her sweatpants. “I know.”

He stays quiet, running his thumb across her skin gently. All of it feels like rubbing salt in wounds. “Then why did you?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I figured I would have to stop it all together if I wanted to stay out of that scene.”

The look on Percy’s face says that he doesn’t really understand, but he nods along anyways. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Annabeth says back, because she’s not sure how else to explain her reasoning. When she was sixteen with more fame and responsibility than she could handle, quitting cold turkey _had_ seemed like the only option available. She wishes nearly every day that she would have kept surfing, and she supposes it’s one of those ‘never too late’ scenarios. She could always start now, but she would never get back to where she once was, and that’s enough to keep her at bay, constantly avoiding the one thing she had going for herself.

Percy moves closer and leans his cheek on her knee for a few seconds, almost like he’s giving her some weird alien hug. She hopes the way she shoves her knee against his face conveys returning the said hug, and the way Percy smiles after he sits up straight tells her it does. “Thank you for telling me.”

Annabeth shrugs with a small smile. Unearthing the memories has a heavy feeling settling on her shoulders that feels oddly like guilt, which doesn’t make much sense. “It’s no big deal. Would have told you eventually.”

“If it keeps you from feeling sad,” Percy says quickly, like he’s trying to get it out before he loses his nerve, “I _like_ like you. Like, a lot.”

Annabeth snorts lightly and rolls her eyes, but she has to purse her lips to restrain the smile that wants to show. “Thanks,” she blurts. “I mean. I—same. Me, too.”

“Cool,” Percy breathes out, and Annabeth scrunches her nose up at him. He makes the same face and laughs along with her because he knows just what she’s thinking—it reeks of middle school crushes. “Can our next not-date be a date-date?”

“What’s up with all of our double words? _Like_ like? _Date_ date?” Annabeth kicks lightly at his thigh. “Percy Percy.”

“Annabeth Annabeth,” he replies with a smile. “Date date me me please please.”

And if she can’t stop laughing for a minute straight, it’s hardly her fault.

;;

The first date is the worst one Annabeth's ever been on, yet she goes home happier than she's been in a while.

He takes her to a run down pizza joint. The pizza's not bad but the soft drinks are flat. The lights are dim and they flicker throughout their entire meal, but Percy's smile is so bright and constant that she almost doesn't notice.

After they eat the pizza that's mediocre at best and sip at drinks that taste more like nothing than they do soda, he takes her to an arcade.

Annabeth hates arcades (a fact that Percy's more than aware of; she'd ranted once about how there were too many screaming children and loud noises to even think) and Percy laughs when she looks around distastefully.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asks, and her voice doesn't sound half as annoyed as she had meant for it to.

Percy sends her a crooked smile, running a hand over a game's controls. "You didn't tell me to take you anywhere else."

Annabeth can't argue with his logic, so she decides to roll her eyes at him and walk away from him with the dignity she has left.

She hears his laugh ring out over the various sounds the games are making, and she has to scrunch up her nose to keep from smiling.

" _Annabeth_ ," Percy says, exasperation clear in his tone, but there's a hint of humor there, too. "Don't walk away."

Annabeth does keep walking, but a smile's slid onto her face now. "I'm not staying in an _arcade_ , Jackson—"

"' _Jackson_ ,'" Percy interrupts, latching onto her elbow and turning her around. Her nose nearly bumps his, so she takes a generous step back. "So impersonal."

"Why did you take me to an arcade?"

"I need to set your expectations low," Percy answers, swaying towards her. She doesn't step back, but she does raise her eyebrows a fraction. "That way, when I take you on our second date, you'll be relieved that it's loads better than our first. Then you'll agree to a third, and a fourth, and a fifth..." He trails off with a proud smirk. "Given that you agree to a second date."

Percy's eyes are green, but they're not as bright next to the flashing lights of the arcade. Somehow it makes it all easier. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm cute," Percy says, making a face at her. She makes one back. "And I'm funny," he lists, reaching out to pinch her side. Annabeth bats his hand away. " _And_ I have great hair. Phenomenal."

"Yeah, okay," she scoffs.

He steps closer to her and presses his lips to her cheek before he whispers in her ear, "And because I like you, and I probably won't stop bothering you until you agree to go on another one."

Annabeth's cheeks feel hot when Percy shifts backward, his previous aura of confidence diminishing. "And the truth is that I wanted to mess this date up really bad so that it could only get better from here," he finishes, giving a small demonstration of jazz hands. "Ta-da!"

Annabeth blinks just to make sure the guy in front of her is real. "Are you real?"

Percy shushes her, reaching forward to presumably tap her nose, but he misjudges the distance and ends up booping thin air. "That's confidential information. It's more second-date stuff."

Annabeth hums with mock-interest. "And what else does this second date entail?"

Percy cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes at her. "I take it you're a classic girl. Dinner and a movie."

"That's vague," Annabeth comments, even though his statement is true. She's never been one for the showy dates; the bare necessities satisfy her.

"I'll be holding all the doors open for you, obviously. Walk you to your door when the night ends. Kiss on the cheek to keep it classy."

"I think I'll consider anything classy after this date," Annabeth says snarkily, but Percy just grins and nods like it was the plan all along. "Anything else?"

"I might hold your hand during the movie," Percy adds, shuffling his feet. "If I'm not too nervous. My hands actually get really sweaty, which is probably gross, but." He shrugs. Annabeth smiles against her own will and tries to calm the uneasy feeling spreading through her chest. "I'll probably watch you more than I watch the movie. You'll probably tease me for it..." Percy trails off like he's explaining something that everyone should know.

"And?"

"I'll probably eat all the popcorn. I'm a stress eater," he blurts, and Annabeth laughs harder than she has in a while.

"Okay," she says. "Take me home now, please."

Percy's expression falters the slightest bit, but he nods. “Of course.”

They walk to the car silently, and Annabeth can feel Percy’s mood shift back and forth, like he’s not quite sure how he wants to feel. “What movies are showing this week?” Annabeth asks after he’s started driving.

Percy smiles hugely, swerving into the other lane for a scary moment. “I don’t know, we’ll have to look it up. This week?”

“Tomorrow,” Annabeth amends. “I’m busy every other day this week.”

“Are you? Doing what?”

“Regretting tomorrow, probably.” It’s more of a deflection than it is an answer, but Percy makes a silly face at her so she decides it’s okay.

“Who in their right mind would regret the best day of their life?”

“The best day of my life was the day I was announced the NSSA Surfer of the Week,” Annabeth says without thinking. She bites the inside of her cheek after the words leave her mouth, but she decides it’s too late to pull the words back in. “My dad was so proud.”

“He still is,” Percy says, without a beat of hesitation. “He has to be. He’s crazy if he isn’t.”

Annabeth’s heart swells considerably, and she has to wipe her mouth to rid of the smile. "I'm sure he is. That's actually why I'm busy the rest of the week; I was planning on visiting him. It's been months."

Percy hums in acknowledgement. Annabeth recognizes the barber shop they've passed three times now, and it doesn't take her long to realize Percy's driving in circles. "You're driving in circles."

"Am not," Percy denies immediately, but his smile widens and tells her the truth. "I can't imagine not seeing my mom for months. We have dinner, like, twice a week. Sometimes more."

"So... You love your mom?"

Percy offers a prize-winning smile. "She's my favorite person in the world. You're catching up to her, though."

And if that doesn't make Annabeth's whole body warm up, nothing will. Percy's eyes linger on her when he pauses at a stop sign. "And your dad?"

Percy doesn't seemed fazed as he answers, "Don't know him all that well."

"I'm sorry." Annabeth knows the feeling, but she's starting to wonder if she knows anything anymore. Her mind feels oddly blank when Percy's eyes flicker down to her lips.

Annabeth never really takes a moment to quiet down, but something about the look on Percy's face makes all the gears stop turning. She wonders if the clock stopped ticking; if she's suspended in time. It's close to the feeling of riding a big wave, and for a moment Annabeth loses her breath.

A loud honk shakes her from her daze, and Percy blinks before accelerating once more. "You don't have to say sorry." He clears his throat, turning onto Annabeth's road. For some reason she doesn't feel inclined to think about, disappointment sits heavily on her shoulders.

"No one ever _has_ to say sorry," Annabeth answers. "It's just nice to."

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Percy chuckles, cocking his head to the side. "Unless you say no to date number two."

"So, nothing to be sorry about," Annabeth confirms, in time with Percy pulling into her driveway.

"I'll get you at six so we'll have time for dinner. That okay?" Percy taps idly at his steering wheel. "Also, I really want to kiss you. Like, more than anything. But I don't want to be that guy."

"The guy that kisses me?" Annabeth teases.

Percy's eyes widen. "No, no, _no_ , that's the guy I want to be. I want. Yeah, like—"

He stops talking when Annabeth loses her composure. Then he frowns. "You're laughing at me."

" _With_ you," she corrects with a patronizing pat to the head. Percy leans into her touch when she moves her hand back. "Goodnight."

"No," Percy whines. "Stay. Talk to me."

"You know that you can't pick me up tomorrow if you don't leave, right?"

Percy leans his head against the seat and scowls at her. "Stop with that. The logic. I don't like it."

"Says the boy who threw a competition because he felt pressured," Annabeth says with an eyeroll.

" _Heeey_ ," Percy warns. "Everyone has their reasons."

Annabeth clamps her jaw shut so quickly, there's a sharp clack. "Right. I have to go."

"Hey," he says, locking one of her wrists in his hand. He searches her face, almost frantically, with wide, concerned eyes. "Hey, what happened? You just shut down on me there."

"I have to go," Annabeth says again, because if she doesn't go she'll tell him everything. "I'm sorry."

Percy lets her go easily, but his eyes track her as she unbuckles her seatbelt. “It’s fine. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she reassures him, inwardly wincing at the stilted conversation.

He seems to fumble for a second. “I—okay. Goodnight?”

“Goodnight,” Annabeth agrees, hesitating before leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she adds, in a whisper.

“It’s not your fault,” Percy tells her, his eyes nothing but understanding. He presses his lips against her forehead and keeps them there. “I just want to help, you know? I…” He half-laughs, half-sighs. “I want to take care of you. That’s all.” His voice hasn’t risen above a whisper.

Annabeth catches his upper arm and squeezes. “Thank you.”

She watches Percy drive away from the window next to her front door, and it feels a lot like she’s losing something.

;;

Percy arrives thirty minutes early the next day, which means he catches Annabeth in a perpetual state of panic.

She doesn’t usually _panic_ over dates. Sometimes she gets nervous—like any sane human does—but the fact of the matter is she’s been standing in front of her closet for twenty minutes and has yet to select a single article of clothing.

Consequently, this means that she answers the door in her bathrobe, quickly tossed over her undergarments.

“I’m early,” Percy says sheepishly. “But… I was getting kind of nervous… ish? So, I just left. And now I’m here. And you’re in a bathrobe?”

Annabeth wills herself not to blush. “I am.”

“Right, so…” He coughs. “I could wait in the car…?”

“Or you could make yourself useful and tell me what to wear,” Annabeth breathes out, frustrated. Percy raises an eyebrow. “I’m serious. I’m useless with this stuff.”

“With clothes? I gotta say, I like the sound of that.” He raises his eyebrows twice, and Annabeth tries shutting the door on him. Percy’s laughing when he manages to squeeze between the doorframe and the door. “Okay, I’m finished!” He makes the white flag gesture and waves in greeting. “How are you?”

“Objectified,” Annabeth snorts, turning her back on him. He follows.

Thankfully, she’d taken the time to clean her room today. There aren’t any three day old pizza boxes or other incriminating evidence. Percy stands before her closet with crossed arms, staring just as intently as she had been.

After a few minutes, he taps at her shoulder and pulls on a navy blue hoodie. “This one?”

Annabeth makes a face. “That’s old.”

“I like it.”

“You would,” she says, and it sounds fond. “Really? Of all things in my closet?”

“It’s this or nothing. I’m quite partial to the ‘nothing’ option, if you—”

“Right,” Annabeth interrupts. “So, ratty old blue hoodie.”

Percy smiles at her cheerfully and gives a small shoulder-shuffle dance. “This week on Percy Gets His Way, please welcome our guest star Annabe—”

Annabeth shoos him out before he can continue.

;;

Percy takes an Italian restaurant that’s so far past the city limits, Annabeth’s sure that he’s taking her into the woods to hunt an animal down. He swears up and down that it’s the best restaurant for miles, so she stops vocalizing her worries and watches him drive.

He drives almost exactly how he surfs: with a certain sureness about him that evokes a pinch of jealousy in Annabeth. And he’s a _courteous_ driver, is the thing, always letting people go before him even when he has the right of way, smiling sweetly at people who wave him on. Annabeth definitely envies the way he seems so full of light—or positivity, rather. It’s almost like his heart is too big for his brain to even consider negativity.

The date is—on a scale of one to enjoyable—the best date she’s ever been on.

;;

At the end of the night, Percy walks her to the door like the proper gentleman he is. He even goes as far as making conversation while Annabeth leans on the doorframe. It wanders from the merits of Italian food to the Muppets in approximately ten minutes, so Annabeth kisses him quiet. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and all that.

Percy kisses exactly like he surfs, too. Annabeth feels just as overwhelmed as every wave that’s ever had the nerve to cross him. He kisses her until she’s smiling so hard that she can hardly kiss back, then promptly pulls her into a hug and kisses all over her hair. Annabeth feels more secure and safe than she has in a while.

Percy ends the night with a half-exasperated, half-fond, “I like you so much I don’t know what to do about it.” Annabeth presses her lips against his again just to see if she’ll feel just as breathless as she did the first time. She does.

;;

“You got this!” Percy shouts, and Annabeth can hear his laughter over the roar of the ocean.

“I’m going to fall!” she yells back, paddling for all she’s worth. Annabeth’s on a board for the first time in over four years.

“The waves’ll catch you!” His voice is definitely further away. Annabeth glances over her shoulder and sees him straddling his board with a pleased look on his face.

She catches the next wave, and she falls even if she doesn’t hit the water.

;;;


End file.
